“You surrendered immediately.”
“I protected company assets.”
“You taught him extortion.”
“He’s too old to change careers.”
Captain Pancake ate the cheese and wandered behind the counter with the snorkel still hanging from his collar.
I removed it before a customer photographed him and created another source of income.
The morning boat had already left with Mateo and six certified divers who had asked exclusively about visibility, currents, and water temperature. Nobody had mentioned Savannah Brooks, bracelets, mystery women, or whether four days qualified as enough time to ruin someone’s life.
The return to ordinary questions had been gradual.
For the first week, every customer had looked at me as though they had booked a reef dive and received a complimentary subplot. Then the headlines moved on to an actor’s divorce, a professional athlete’s deleted post, and a famous chef who had allegedly thrown a decorative lemon at his business partner.
The world had discovered new emergencies.
I appreciated the chef.
Hank carried the damaged display into the office.
“Mail came.”
He dropped a stack onto the desk.
Utility bill.
Catalog.
Boat-insurance advertisement.
One purple envelope withMISS ELLIEwritten across the front in silver marker.
I recognized the handwriting from the waiver form her mother had helped her complete.
“Lexi,” I said.
“The mermaid kid?”
“The nine-year-old from the birthday trip Annie joined.”
Lexi had celebrated on our boat three weeks earlier with glittery crowns, blue frosting, and a green fabric tail she intended to wear underwater.
Hank had explained that attaching her legs to each other would make climbing the ladder difficult.
Lexi had accepted the safety ruling with more maturity than several adults I had certified.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a folded card covered in bubble-shaped stickers.
The front showed two figures underwater. One had brown hair, yellow fins, and arms of different lengths.
Probably me.
The other had blond hair, a purple mask, and six fingers on one hand.
